


Trust in the Storm

by ride_the_dinos



Category: DCU
Genre: Everyone Is Doing Their Best, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, M/M, Minor whump, There’s a baby, and a snow storm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:48:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24515644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ride_the_dinos/pseuds/ride_the_dinos
Summary: Jason is standing at the stove with a baby balanced on his hip.Tim dazedly wonders if he actually did get hypothermia. At what stage did victims experience visual hallucinations? He couldn’t remember.“Jason what….where did you get that?”
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Comments: 4
Kudos: 263





	Trust in the Storm

Tim’s fingers are stiff as popsicle sticks as he jimmies Jason’s window open. He grumbles, pressing his nose further beneath his cape as sharp wind slices like daggers through his suit. It takes another couple minutes of slippery fingers and shaky curses before he hears the lock give. 

He tumbles to the floor with a painful  _ thump _ , a pile of snow falling with him before he’s able to slam the window shut against the blizzard. He stands shivering at the window, staring out at the storm howling across Gotham’s empty streets. It had started to snow an hour earlier, and after a few close calls with grapples and ice patches he’d decided it was time to wrap up. 

The wind picked up quick and violent, and Tim ended up having to re-route halfway to his own safe house just to make it in time. Once he got over his hatred of the circumstances, Tim would admit he was pretty glad for the excuse to visit the man. 

Jason’s voice is muffled from the kitchen as he shouts the expected, “If that’s a bat then get the fuck out!” 

“ _ You _ get out,” Tim huffs miserably, stomping his snow-packed boots on the hardwood just to piss the man off. 

Jason rounds the corner brandishing a towel and a wooden spoon and for a second Tim wonders if he’s about to be run out of the apartment with it before Jason chucks the towel at his face and turns back to the kitchen.

“Clean that shit up and come help me.”

Tim pauses, surprised at the lack of vehemence in his tone. Another shiver wracks his muscles and he decides that as long as he’s not about to be murdered he doesn’t care. 

Tim starts the agonizing process of peeling off the frozen layers, fingertips aflame with pins and needles as they defrost. He still can’t feel his nose by the time he slips into Jason’s room to steal some clothes, dumping his own sopping uniform into the bathtub as he goes. 

The smallest shirt he can find still drapes ridiculously over his thin shoulders, the collar dipping low over his clavicle. The rolled up legs of the sweatpants simply adds insult to injury. 

He hears noises from the kitchen while he dresses, dishes clattering and...voices? Tim freezes.  _ Who else is here? _

He does a quick mental run-down of the night. Batman took Robin back home an hour ago, and honestly those two are the least likely candidates to end up in one of Jason Todd’s apartments. Dick is in Bludhaven so he’s out, Cass is helping Stephanie “study” while she’s back in town, (which really means they’re catching up on gossip and movies while stuffing themselves with takeout.) (Tim is absolutely  _ not _ jealous.) And the voice isn’t that of Roy or another of Jason’s friends. 

No one else in their community is in Gotham at the moment. At least, according to Tim’s intel. He snags a pair of thick socks from a drawer and slips them on before making his way to the kitchen. 

What he sees makes him skid to a stop in the doorway.

Jason is standing at the stove with a baby balanced on his hip.  _ A baby _ .

Tim dazedly wonders if he actually  _ did _ get hypothermia. At what stage did victims experience visual hallucinations? He couldn’t remember. 

“Jason what….where did you get that?”

Jason doesn’t look up from carefully chopping cilantro leaves one-handed as he deadpans, “The farmer’s market.”

“ _ Jaso- _ “

“She’s mine,” a tired voice interrupts.

Tim finally notices the boy sitting on the other side of the counter, young, maybe eighteen or nineteen. Not much younger than Tim, anyway.

His eyes look bruised with exhaustion and the crisp white bandages on his knuckles are stark against his umber complexion. His face is alight with the glowing screen of Jason’s laptop. Tim recognizes the hoodie the boy is wearing as one of Jason’s. 

“This is Josiah and this is his daughter, Mira. You can either cut the chicken or help him with his finals.”

“Finals-?” 

“Actually, c’mere. You’re on chicken duty.” 

Tim feels like he’s back in the maelstrom, only this time the storm is a 6’2 brick wall with a cooing baby on his hip. Jason snags the sleeve of his shirt and drags him to the cutting board, shoving the knife into his hands before scooting back around the counter to sit next to Josiah. He bounces Mira on one knee, one of her tiny hands patting his cheek as he reads the screen. 

Tim can’t  _ cook _ . Since when did Jason let him step  _ foot _ into his kitchen? He glances at Mira, who’s now doing her best to tear Jason’s white fringe out of his skull. Tim readily decides the chicken is the better fate. 

His fingers feel numb around the hilt of the knife and he takes a minute to hold his palms over the boiling pot of broth on the stove, melting his frozen core bit by bit as steam curls around the appendages and drifts lazily toward the ceiling. His ears perk up as Jason talks Josiah through his English final behind him. 

He’s bewildered at the amount of patience oozing from Jason’s tone. There’s an obvious knowledge and passion of the subjects being discussed, and Tim listens to the way the vigilante lays out the foundations of the essay, carefully backtracking and explaining where the boy seems to struggle. 

He turns back to the cutting board, wondering who Josiah is and how he’d found his way into Jason’s apartment.  _ With a baby _ . Tim has a hard enough time getting in with just  _ himself _ most days. 

Jason catches him staring at one point and Tim hastily continues hacking the chicken apart, re-focusing on his task lest Jason decide he’s not the man for the job and, heaven forbid, make him hold the baby. 

When was the last time he held a baby? He muses over the question before coming to the uncomfortable conclusion that he’s _never_ held a baby. Toddlers, yeah. He’s saved his fair share of the little gremlins. But a wholeass _baby_? 

Tim idly wonders if that’s something most people have done- if he’s a special case. 

He snorts quietly to himself,  _ of course he’s a special case. _ He’s Tim Drake, head of Drake Industries by day and vigilante Red Robin by night. Between running a multi-million dollar company and running for his life every night he doesn't have  _ time _ to babysit. 

Although Jason, apparently, does. And Tim has never been more curious. 

Jason is so. . . rough. He beats people’s skulls in and throws psychopaths in arkham asylum with two less working limbs. He’s a powerhouse of a fighter, trained by some of the best assassins in the world. He doesn’t hold _ babies  _ or help random kids do their  _ homework _ . 

Tim is having a hard time fitting the man in front of him to the man he runs side-by-side with every night. 

After a while he’s pulled out of his thoughts when Josiah groans and holds his head in his hands.

“I’m not drunk enough for this.”

Jason slaps his shoulder just out of Mira’s line of sight, “You're not supposed to be drunk  _ at all,”  _ he murmurs in chastisement. 

Tim cuts the last piece of chicken and scoops it all into the waiting bowl.

“What do you want me to do with this?”

Jason’s eyes skip over the ingredients lying neglected on the counter and sighs, letting Mira crawl over his arm into her dad’s lap before standing and stretching. 

“I guess we can take a break,” He muses, glancing out at the icey maelstrom still raging beyond the windows. Crystalline snow is building up on the sill, slowly blocking the view.

Tim can tell the storm is making Jason nervous by the way he tugs at his curls and runs his hand down to scratch at his neck. He’s distracted when he sidles up next to Tim and slips the knife and cutting board from his hands, pressing a kiss to the top of his head before dropping the utensils in the sink. He grabs the ladle and begins to stir the pot.

“How long have you two been together?” Josiah asks, letting Mira gum at a knuckle on his left hand. A hand, Tim notes, that’s devoid of a ring. The exhaustion that sits over the kids shoulders suddenly makes a little more sense. Tim glances at the tiny ball of energy wriggling in his lap, mentally slotting a few more pieces of the puzzle together. 

He shrugs as Jason says: “about four months.”

Josiah nods, “That was ‘bout how long Mira’s mom and I were together.”

Tim pauses, doing the math, “Wait- that’s not..”

Jason looks at him like he’s about to smack him with the spoon until Josiah interrupts.

“No. She didn’t fucking tell me she got pregnant ‘til she’d already had the baby. By then…” he shifts, setting Mira down to let her play with his shoe laces, “she’d already made up her mind. She dropped Mira at my door with fifty bucks and a bottle on her way to the airport. Was in Cali before I could even ask.”

Jason turns back to the stove, the muscles along his spine and shoulders tense. Tim remembers reading the file about his birth mother; Josiah’s story matched pretty well to what Sheila did to Jason after he was born. Tim swallowed the hard lump in his throat and fought the urge to wrap Jason up and kiss the angry crease from his brow. He doubts Jason would appreciate the sentiment right now. 

Later, Tim decides, watching his boyfriend's knuckles turn white on the spoon handle, later when they’re both snuggled into the warm covers and he has Jason’s full attention, he’ll kiss his affections into the man’s skin. Later he’ll get to show him how much he’s wanted. 

For now, though, Tim hops up onto the counter and simultaneously watches the man dump ingredients into the pot and the baby crawl around the counter to sit in the middle of the kitchen. She stares with wide, delighted eyes at the swing of Tim’s legs against the cupboards, little hands clasping together in excitement as she coos. 

Josiah hefts himself up, “Is there a bathroom…?”

“Two doors down to the right. There’s a mat on the floor, can’t miss it.”

“Thanks.”

Tim catches the slight limp in the man’s gait out of the corner of his eye. As soon as he hears the door close he turns to Jason. 

“What the fuck? Are you tutoring or something, now?” He whispers.

Jason doesn’t turn from his task, lowering his voice to match Tim’s, “He’s my neighbor, he’s staying with his grandparents until he graduates high school.”

Tim hums “That doesn't answer my question.”

Jason whips around, anger still hard in the lines of his face. None of his previous patience is to be seen. 

“I found him bloody and drunk in the hallway, trying to keep Mira’s screams down. Neither of them had jackets on and her lips were nearly blue. I had half a mind to call someone.” 

“You should,” Tim suggests, stopping the swing of his legs when Mira crawls closer. She reaches up and with a mighty tug unrolls all of Tim’s earlier work. The pant leg hangs past his socked foot and he sighs irritably, deciding to ignore it as she does her best to pull the rest of the pant leg down with it. 

“I’m not going to,” Jason admits, “I can tell he’s trying hard. I don't want to take that from him.”

Tim nods, watching him return to his work, “Are you sure he doesn't need help?”

“What do you call this?”

“I mean  _ more _ help, Jason. The kind of help that you can’t offer. Think about Mira.”

“Mira has a dad who loves her and is doing his best to give her a good life.”

Tim thinks about the bandages wrapped around Josiah’s knuckles, the limp in his step.

“Yeah but-“

Jason drops the spoon and spins on his heel, stopping inches from Tim’s face. He stares up at the man, startled. 

“I  _ know _ what happens after I make that call, Tim. In another city she might have a chance, but in Gotham?” He shakes his head, “I can’t do that to her, Tim. _ I can’t _ . The only thing I  _ can _ do is make sure her dad stays on track.”

He leans back, easing out of Tim’s space. “I know he loves her. Otherwise he wouldn’t have kept her that night. He wouldn’t be trying so hard to finish high school. He’s taking dual enrollment classes with Gotham U, ya know? Wants to get into Biochemistry.”

Tim considers the man for a moment, taking in the determined set of his shoulders, the hopeful fire in his eyes, and wraps his hands around his neck to draw him into a single hard kiss. Jason leans back when he lets go, face flickering with a confused smile. 

“I trust you,” Tim says.

Jason doesn’t turn away fast enough to hide his blush, and Tim grins. 

He doesn’t stop grinning, in fact, until Josiah comes out of the bathroom looking shaken. 

“What’s wrong?” Tim demands. Jason scoops Mira off the floor and hands her to Tim as he steps closer to the man. 

“I- uh,” he starts, looking back at the bathroom and then back to Tim, “You’re Red Robin. That’s what Jason meant earlier by ‘bat’.”

Tim can feel himself flushing when Jason slowly turns to look at him. 

“Fuck, I- uh, I forgot I left that in there,” he chuckles nervously, shrugging. 

“Tim-“

“Hey man, it’s. . .it’s alright I guess. The bats are cool with me. They saved my sister a while back. Or uh, I guess,  _ you _ saved her a while back.”

Jason nods slowly, meeting the teen’s eyes, “You can’t tell anyone about that suit.”

Josiah raises an eyebrow, shuffling back to his seat. 

“If you help me get an ‘A’ on this stupid fucking essay then it’s a deal, dude.”

Mira tugs on Tim’s bangs, cooing happily. 

“Done.”

  
  
  
  



End file.
